Once you were a PRo liar secretary. . .
Shilled for a guy who couldn’t think
For the country and much less for himself.
You went off the air—leave well enough alone
Thought I to myself, but again I heard you drone.

Dana, zat you on the tube?
Although you are just a boob,
I’d still smile if you would toke on my “doob.”

Though you lied, I can’t deny that on my mind:
Your once pouting PR lips I’d like on my spline
To rapture me.
I’d like you to bucally burnish my bone
While saying things I know are patently wrong. . .
Talk my schlong to ecstasy!

Dana, zat you on the tube?
I would love a lingual lube
When you smile. . .maybe tousle in my pubes?

Dana, still when your lips move
I wish I were in the groove
Of your smile, from which issued the untruths
(Tissue of untruths).

I came to your briefings each and every day,
Chafing in my briefs at every single word you’d say.
Admittedly
I wanted to press your “con-furance” next to me.
I admit that I had lectern lechery. . .
Overlook past mendacity.

Dana, still when your lips move,
I wish we were in the groove
And you’d ply into my ear sweet untruths
(Then move south sans ruth*).

Yeah now.
Dana, I still want your smooch;
Tongue me with some more untruth.
Tell me lies while you’re orally uncouth.

Time passed has not dimmed my love for you,
Years gone don’t diminish love for you. . .
Don’t care what you said’s untrue; I seek
Phallus calloused past your pouting moue.


*self-reproach